Here Comes Trouble (4 page)

“First of all,” he said in a strangled voice after she placed the cold, wet cotton on the first scratch. “I don’t get involved with married women. Second of all, if I had, I’d have a black eye. Not scratches on my back.”

“Pardon me.” Slowly, so as not to sting him too much, she swiped the alcohol-soaked ball down the scratch, disinfecting it as best she could. She didn’t know why she asked him how he got these. She knew. Some nameless woman couldn’t contain herself in the throes of passion and dug her nails into his back. She’d heard of women who were back-scratchers, but this was ridiculous.

“Start talking, Lace.”

“Well, I was born in a little town just south of Yellowstone –”

“Nice try, Chatty Cathy. But you made me a deal, remember?”

Of course she remembered.
 
Being this close to his naked skin and smelling his woodsy shampoo had clouded her logical thinking. She discarded the first swab and poured some alcohol on a second one.

He flinched when she placed it on the next scratch. “Holy hell, woman. Did you pour acid on that thing?”

A satisfied smile tilted one corner of her mouth. That’s what he got for being so irresistible. “Sorry. Maybe next time you’ll go out with a woman who doesn’t have cat claws.”

“Ha ha, Twiggy.”

She paused with the cotton ball halfway down his back. “Call me that one more time and I really
will
pour acid on you.”

He cleared his throat. “We’re getting off subject here. Tell me what’s going on.”

 
She bit her teeth into her bottom lip, while lightly dabbing the cotton to his marred skin, unsure of what to tell him. One more time she decided to play dumb. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Okay, Tw –”

“All right!” She bit out with a glare at his backside, then blew out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just that Ray left me with a few more things that I could do without. Well, technically it’s not really Ray’s fault.” Ray had done the best he could with Lacy. He’d clothed her, made sure she went to school and fed her three meals a day. Grandfathers weren’t supposed to do those things. There were supposed to spoil you with extra stuff like cookies before breakfast and backyard campouts. Bless his heart; he’d had no clue how to raise a teenage girl. He taught her things like how to use a lawnmower and change the oil in a car.

“What does that mean?”

She tossed aside her current cotton ball and soaked another one. “Ray had a friend of his handling his will, if you could even call it a will. I don’t know exactly what the guy did, or how he managed to get away with it, but he hadn’t been entirely truthful when he disclosed Ray’s assets.”

Okay, so it was a bigger deal than that. Lacy really didn’t want to tell him this. Why did she have to go and make that stupid deal? So she could clean his sex-induced scratches? So not worth it.

“What exactly does that mean?”

“That’s the problem. I can’t tell you exactly.” She pulled in another breath. “The IRS is auditing me because there were hidden assets not included in the final accounting. I didn’t fully understand so I saw a tax attorney this morning. He said what the guy did was borderline fraud. Apparently the IRS has been investigating it since Ray’s death and now wants to collect on these unpaid taxes.” The whole thing came out in a rush, like the words had been waiting for the opportune time to force themselves out. “At the time of Ray’s death, it seemed like everything was in order. And I didn’t have any reason not to trust the guy.”

Chase turned to face her. “How much money are you talking about?”

She lifted her shoulders in a pathetic shrug and tossed the last ball on the desk. “Somewhere in the vicinity of twenty thousand dollars,” she mumbled to the ground beneath her scuffed black shoes.

“Twenty
grand?
Jesus, Lacy. When did you find this out?”

“I got a letter today in the mail.”

“And this is why you need some time off?”

Time off wasn’t going to fix her problem, she knew that. But, jeez, she’d never given thought to things like this. Ray had only been dead for about a year and he’d always taken care of it. At least, she thought. She’d never even seen a bill, until the one she got this morning. Ray had been the only person in her life worthy of her love and he’d always meant the world to her. How could he have left her in this position? Or, maybe he hadn’t known his friend was a borderline crook?

Her eyes grew hot as moisture built in the corners. She would
not
cry in front of Chase. Dammit, she was stronger than that.

“I just need time to think and go through Ray’s paperwork.” Her voice came out thick from her frustration and helplessness.

“What you need is money.”

No, shit. Money was the one thing she didn’t have.

“Gee, is that all?”

“Do you need some?”

From him? No flipping way.

She shook her head. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll sell the Lincoln.” Upon Ray’s death from lung cancer two years ago, Lacy had become guardian to an aging and outdated ranch house and a 1975 Lincoln Continental with rusty gold paint. Ray probably thought he was being generous by leaving her his most prized possessions. Lacy wasn’t so sure. Half the time the Lincoln didn’t start, forcing her to walk to work, which was not energizing despite what some people might think.

Chase snorted and slipped his arms back into his shirt. “You won’t get a thousand dollars for that piece of junk.”

“Maybe I can make monthly payments to them,” she wondered aloud, more to herself than Chase. Why did she have to include him in this?

When she’d thrown out the cotton balls and faced Chase again, he’d put his shirt on and buttoned it up. Probably for the best. The last thing she needed to do was drool over him.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I’ll figure this out,” she said again.

He stared at her with two thick brows pulled low over light blue eyes. “It’s okay to ask for help if you need it. You can’t do
everything
by yourself.

Desperate to change the subject, Lacy searched her brain for something, anything. Then she remembered he’d been watching something. She nodded her head toward the T.V. “What’re you watching?”

He glanced at the frozen screen of the television. “Nothing exciting.”

O-kay
. “In other words, you can’t tell me because I’m an employee?”

His response was a smile and a nod.

“And here I thought we were sharing things.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Taylor.”

Well, he could just keep his secrets then. If there was trouble at the restaurant, she’d find out eventually. Half the other waitresses were notorious blabbermouths.

She glanced at her cheap, drugstore watch. “My break’s over.” When he didn’t respond to that, she added, “So, you’ll take care of the schedule?”

Once more, his bone-melting eyes raked over her ho-hum white-shirt-and-black-pants uniform. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Instead of uttering a thank you, she just smiled, not trusting her voice to come out even. She walked to the door and opened it.

“Lacy.”

Halfway through the doorway, she paused. “Yeah?”

“You can clean my back scratches anytime.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake. The man was incorrigible!

With a shake of her head and a smile, Lacy stepped out the door.

****

 
“Find anything yet?”

At the sound of his father’s voice, Chase realized Lacy hadn’t shut his door. The patriarch of the McDermott family stood in his office doorway wearing his customary Dockers and black button-up shirt.

What was the old man still doing here?

“Nothing out of the usual.” The search for a would-be thief had slipped his mind amid all his inappropriate thoughts.

Martin remained in the doorway. “Well, keep at it. There has to be something in those tapes.” He turned to leave, but Chase stopped him.

“Dad, wait.” He wasn’t sure he should even say this. “What if it’s not theft? What if Henry’s just mistaken?”

His father’s thick, grey brows wrinkled together. “Henry’s never been mistaken before.” He paused. “Just humor me. If nothing comes up, then we’ll consider the case closed.”

Chase only nodded, knowing there was nothing he could do but appease his father. Something made him think this was a lost cause. None of his employees would steal from him. Would they?

Three

Lacy had no idea how much useless garbage Ray had hoarded over the course of his life. Scraps of fabric and boxes of pinecones had been all she’d unearthed in the spare bedroom closet. This was exactly why she’d been putting this off. Somehow, she knew she’d find nothing useful like a Dustbuster. Or hey, money would have been good. No, Ray had to collect items like stamps from 1942.

It had been sometime after discovering her seventh jar of brown buttons that she’d decided the whole process was futile. Cleaning out Ray’s effects had been continually put on the back burner since his death. Lacy didn’t do sentiment. She didn’t
ooh
and
ahh
over babies or cry at sad movies. If that made her a cynic, so be it. The world could thank her parents for that one.

The idea of sorting through closets full of Lord only knew what just didn’t make her want to jump up and down for joy. There were so many other productive things she could do with her time. Like, finding a place to live when the county took her house.

The cheerful paper she’d received in the mail remained the drawer where she’d stuffed it three days ago. She’d put it in there thinking, “Out of sight, out of mind.” Her plan didn’t work. Her mind refused to think about anything else.

What the hell was she going to do? No way could she come up with twenty thousand dollars in thirty days. Unless maybe she started prostituting herself. Wouldn’t dear old daddy be proud of her then?

She’d been in shitty situations before, but this definitely took the prize. Selling the car wouldn’t do any good. Chase had been right; she wouldn’t get more than a grand for the stupid vehicle.

After abandoning her quest to clear out Ray’s stuff, Lacy headed to the only part of the house she truly loved being in. As a child, drawing had really been nothing more than a hobby. She’d put pen to paper and sketch the first object her eyes came in contact with. At the time her hobby had been nothing more than to take her mind off her father being arrested again. Or whether or not the woman who’d given birth to her ever regretted walking out on them. When she drew, all she saw was the paper in front of her and the object she drew.

In college, she’d hoped to be an art major and eventually make millions selling her drawings in ritzy studios. Yeah, that never happened. Her grades slipped, and she’d lost her scholarship. Unable to afford paying for college on her own, she’d been forced to drop out. Ray didn’t seem to mind. As long as she was happy, or so he always told her. That was one of the traits she loved most about the old man. He never judged her.

She’d spent a few years working whatever jobs she could find. Eventually Ray’s illness had brought her back here.

Being back in Trouble was not what she’d pictured for her future.

The “art studio” she’d put together after moving back, was actually just an empty room. She’d managed to fill it with a few pieces of furniture, and inspirational items like Ray’s old rotary phone and an antique water pump. Her supplies including, pencils, charcoal, watercolors and paints sat on Ray’s ancient and splintered desk. She’d chosen this room because it had the best light. In the early mornings, the light streamed in full blast, setting the perfect mood to sketch whatever came to mind. She’d yet to sell anything though; something she needed to remedy. As soon as she found a studio where an amateur could hang their work, she’d have her in.

She’d just sat down on the couch, pad in her lap, when a knock came from the front door. Considering the last someone who’d knocked on her door had come bearing unpleasant news, Lacy was a tad reluctant to open it.

She still held out hope the Publisher’s Clearinghouse people would find her. So she opened it, hoping to see a man holding a giant fake check with a camera crew behind him. No luck. It was only Chase. Her heart jumped all over her chest.

“If you have fresh scratches on your back, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Chase, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, graced her with an open-mouthed smile. “You’re a riot, Miss Twiggy.”

She started to slam the door on his face when he slapped his palm against it, preventing her from completing her task. “What do you want, Chase?”

He held up a white envelope. “I come here to give you a present, and this is how you treat me?”

“Depends on what you mean by
present
.”

One of his sexy I-know-I’m-God’s-gift-to-women laughs rolled over her when he shoved his way past her. “So suspicious.”

“Do come in,” she said after he already stood in the entryway. The presence of him in the house zapped all the serenity she’d been basking in a moment ago.